


What Friends Are For

by dancerinthedrink



Category: The Riot Club (2014)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Canon-Typical Behavior, Hand Jobs, M/M, Not Beta Read, Possibly Unrequited Love, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:07:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22982221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancerinthedrink/pseuds/dancerinthedrink
Summary: Dimitri gets himself into these situations with Guy far too often. Not that he minds.
Relationships: Dimitri Mitropoulos/Guy Bellingfield
Kudos: 15





	What Friends Are For

“You’d vote for me, right?”

Dimitri looked up from his phone; he had been swiping through Tinder for the last hour while Guy was revising an essay, half of the words underlined with spellcheck red. He had finally been getting into a rhythm, reading through the lines in the profiles to see which girls were DTF and meant it, which girls were going to be clingy after sex, which girls probably swiped on him because of the yacht in his second picture, et cetera, et cetera. A ginger named Rose with a Spice Girls quote as her byline sent him a picture of her tits and he was figuring out an excuse to slip away to return the favor. 

“What’s your platform?” Dimitri said, his thumb hovering over the aubergine emoji. It was a classless move but should be able to tide her over until the real thing. 

“I’m being serious.” Guy rubbed his left wrist. His ring and little finger had to be splinted together after he unwisely included himself in a game of frisbee with the Olympics Club too early to realise they were using an iron discus. The visit to the hospital lasted several hours longer than it should have because Guy tried to wheedle Oxycontin from the nurses on-call whilst Dimitri checked his watch enough times to cross his eyes. He had to type with only his index fingers which made him look like a gran who just met a keyboard.

“So am I. As serious as a broken bone.”

Guy shut his laptop. He shoved Dimitri, hard, and his phone tumbled onto the hardwood floor with an ominous-sounding crack. Dimitri, his face stricken with a look of hate, pointed dramatically. “If that broke,” he said, “I’ll have your fucking head.”

“It’s not like you wouldn’t be able to buy a new one,” Guy said as Dimitri leaned off the bed and scooped up the phone. He turned it over to see the screen had not been cracked. The worst of the damage was the light coating of dust acquired from Guy’s chronically unhoovered floor. He polished it with the cuff of his sleeve before stuffing it in his pocket. He lay back down on the bed and turned to Guy, propping himself up by an elbow.

“Do you really think you’ll be a good president?”

“Fuck yes, I would. James, Harry, and Hugo are going to be gone next year so that leaves us, Ed and Tubes, and George. The dynamic duo is out for what I assume are obvious reasons. And, like, George is great and all, but I really don’t want to go lambing for a club dinner. Plus, no offense, but with your transcript, you really don’t have the capacity to party plan.” 

Dimitri rolled his eyes. He skipped his tutorials almost every other week and had nearly been sent down for a plagiarism scandal before he had proved the essay in question was his, just one he had turned in the year earlier. But besides all that, he still got decent enough marks. He wasn’t the golden boy like James; he didn’t like studying. Even now he was blowing off a research assignment on John Donne only to watch Guy’s dyslexesque writing crawl across the page like silk out of a spider’s arse.

“Like you’d be any better. Guy, your confirmation was fucking ocean themed. That kind of shit is tired.”

“Give me a break, I was fourteen. I’ve had practice now. What makes you think I couldn’t throw a rager?” 

“Because your idea of a good party is two pizzas and a Mario Kart marathon. And that works fine when it’s just the both of us but how do you expect anyone to have any fun if Toby and Ed are going to spend half the night arguing over who gets to be Yoshi.”

“They can take turns. See? Presidential problem-solving at its finest.”

“Good to know you problem-solve the same way my primary school teacher does.”

“But it’s the obvious solution. They play different Grand Prix, both as Yoshi; but if they're the only two that end up playing, one of them can be Birdo. We could write a schedule for who gets to play when. Cycle through different combinations.”

“What about the pizzas? Are you going to order toppings for each slice?”

“Don’t whine because you’re too much of a baby to pick off pepperoni.”

“It disrupts the purity of the pizza.”

“You’re unpleasable.”

“I just have particular tastes.”

“That you happen to share with my ten-year-old brother.”

“Fuck you,” Dimitri said, turning his phone on. “You don’t even have a brother.”

“Liz is vegan now. She won’t eat pizza.”

“Who-fucking-rah,” he said bitterly. 

Dimitri swiped through a few more girls before the mirey aura of Guy pouting next to him got to be too overwhelming. He had unclosed his laptop and was scrolling through his draft morosely, moping into his hand. His hair had flopped over his eyes in a way that made it obvious he couldn’t read a thing. And he didn’t have his reading glasses on. Pity that; Dimitri liked when Guy wore glasses even when they were chic empty frames. It reminded him of how Guy would sit up in bed reading a comic book in his oversized pajamas, drugstore bought glasses slipping to the tip of his nose, drowsy and cute.

“Guy, I think I’m going to go soon.”

“Mmmph.”

“Guu _uu_ y.”

“Leave me alone.”

“Guy, I’m sorry.”

“I don't accept your apology.”

“But I’m sorry.” Dimitri pulled at Guy’s cuff. “Don’t sulk at me. You know I can’t stand it when you sulk at me.”

“I’ll sulk when I want to-- Get _off_ of me.” Guy jerked his arm away, hard, and the feeling of fabric slipping through Dimitri’s fingers burned. Dimitri threw his arms around Guy’s middle, burying his face in his flank; the gasoline smell of his dry-cleaned jumper rose thick in Dimitri’s nose. He inhaled deeply and let out an insolent groan. When he twined his fingers in the hem of Guy’s jumper the knuckles of his thumbs brushed against the lower part of his soft belly. 

“Forgive me. I’ll buy you breakfast.” 

“You’re drooling on my leg, you sicko,” Guy said but didn’t try to shake him off. 

“I’d vote for you. I would.” Shuffling around Guy’s middle, Dimitri perched his chin on his hipbone. “And when I vote for you you’re gonna win.”

“Really?” Together they moved as one creature as Guy moved to lie flat on his back. He had a single room, a queen-sized bed which they both fit on comfortably. He was gazing at the ceiling, waiting for the rug to be pulled out.

“A thousand percent. I’m going to vote for you and you’re going to vote for you and George will and I’ll get the new members to vote for you even if I have to buy them enough Rolexes to cover their entire arms.” 

Guy’s breathing was easy beneath Dimitri’s chin, gentle as lapping waves as he imagined his inauguration. 

“You would?”

“Of course. I would even if you threw shit dinners and didn’t show up to meetings and kicked me out as your first decree.”

“I’d never do that,” Guy said softly.

“I know you wouldn’t but that doesn’t matter. Even if you did that wouldn’t stop me.” 

“You’re such a sap.”

“Not me. Just loyal.”

They laid together for several minutes, too comfortable to move, Guy’s hands down Dimitri’s collar and Dimitri’s cheek over Guy’s navel where his shirt had been rucked up by their roughhousing, while the sun through the curtains got more orange and started getting in Dimitri’s eyes. They were risking falling asleep when the familiar ping of a text alert buzzed against Dimitri’s leg. Reluctantly he unclasped his arms from around Guy’s middle, ignoring the moan of protest from his friend, to check his phone.

ROSE: _meet me @ atik?_

Dimitri grinned and responded briefly with _8 white room_.

“Really gotta shove off now mate but hold me to breakfast if you want,” he said, groping with his feet for his shoes, the shiny loafers lay discarded on the floor where he had kicked them off when he first arrived.

“Can’t you stay just a little longer?”

“Trust me, I would but…”

He flashed Guy the picture of Rose which must have lasted a second too short because Guy grabbed his wrist with his good hand and gazed at the screen, his thumb moving absently over the bone that stuck out under Dimitri’s skin. His lips were slightly parted, and Dimitri could see the red tip of his tongue flick out.

“Bloody hell,” Guy said when he finally released his grasp. 

“I know.”

“Did her tattoo say ‘The Turns’?”

“‘The _Twins_ ‘. She’s a Gemini.” Dimitri stopped up his pocket with the phone. “So I’ll see you tomorrow morning then?”

Already ideations of the night were spinning through Dimitri’s imagination. He’d buy Rose a Sex on the Beach without asking and she would fawn over his intuitiveness even though she put it in her profile. For a girl from St Hilda’s she was really thick; when he referenced _The Bloody Chamber_ she didn’t clock the fact it was a feminist text. Had he known the girls he flirted with wouldn’t care about Angela Carter, he wouldn’t have bothered wasting a summer reading her oeuvre.

But what did it matter? She would dance with him for an hour and a half, then take him back to her shared house and ride him like he was a mounted dildo and all he would have to do was lie back and think of Greece. 

“I don’t want breakfast.” Guy’s voice had slipped back into pouting.

“Lunch, dinner then. I can ask my dealer if he has any Oxy for you, if you still need it.”

“I don’t want that either.”

“Just text me when you figure it out.”

“Could you help me with something?”

“Not now Guy.”

“Please? It won’t take long. Seven minutes tops.”

“What is it?” Expecting to see the face of the laptop for some cursory proofreading, Dimitri turned. Guy had his legs open and was palming an obvious lump at the front of his trousers.

“Could you help me?”

“Guy, what the fuck?”

He was like this. He was always like this. When they were fourteen and Guy discovered how much better it felt to have a hand that wasn’t your own working your cock he tried to bribe and coax Dimitri into wanking him off. It wasn’t like Guy was some sexual mastermind who could seduce adolescent Dimitri into doing anything, he was just a queen at whinging until Dimitri got so fed up he lubed up his palm with spit and did the job.

It didn’t happen that often after Guy got his first girlfriend which was a relief.

“I can’t help it. You showed those tits - which were, like, bang-up by the way, good catch - and I… Well, I got all excited. I can’t do anything with this.” He waved his splinted hand. “It won’t take long; I’m just about to burst.” 

“That’s a fucking gross way to describe it.”

“‘m being honest. Anyway, you owe me.”

“Not really.”

“Don’t break a promise Mitya, or Zeus’ll smite you. I’m trading in my breakfast.”

“For a handjob?”

“I mean, I’ll take both if you're willing.”

Dimitri sighed. Even if he buggered off right then, leaving Guy with his hard-as-fuck cock, he’d never hear the end of it until he eventually relented in a day, a week, two months once, and wanked off Guy’s stupid dick.

“Fucking fine.”

Guy grinned and scrambled past Dimitri off the bed. He fumbled through a bureau drawer, producing a benign white tube of K-Y Jelly. He lobbed the bottle at Dimitri, who almost batted it away on instinct, and climbed back next to him, squeezing the bulge in his trousers from head to balls, and fabricating a great distance.

Dimitri remembered when at Eton the boys would size up their cocks with a measuring tape stolen from the woman that hemmed their coats, bragging over the few centimetres they had on each other. Guy had had the smallest of the class and, by the looks of things, not much had changed since they were thirteen. 

They had gone on a school trip to Florence where they saw _David_ in his full glory and the headteacher had the unenviable task of trying to prevent a drove of adolescent boys from pointing and laughing at the statue’s undersized penis. The tour guide had, rather red-faced, explained that modest phalluses were an ideal representing intelligence. 

Guy must be the next Turing. That is if one were to use cock length like girls used Zodiac signs.

He squirted the lube into his palm; it came out faster than he expected and drenched his hand. Thick and heavy, it felt like someone had cum on him. Repulsed by the thought, he waved his hand frantically in an attempt to shake it off.

“Aw, fuck!” He cried as the droplets scattered on the bed. “Get me a tissue, you asshole. Why don’t you use lotion like a normal fucking human?”

“I’m not going to waste my lotion; my hands’ll get dry.”

“You’re using it with your fucking hands!” Dimitri shook his head, exasperated, then, after a deep breath, cast a nod at Guy’s crotch. “Those off.”

“My trousers?”

“I can’t exactly get at your cock through them.”

“Right, right.” Guy undid the button and the zipper of his trousers and pulled out his cock. 

It stood between them like a roman candle, spurting danger and it would be a stupid idea if one of them were to reach for it. Dimitri swallowed the fear in his throat, which tasted familiarly of bile, and took hold of Guy’s cock with his slimed-up hand. 

He jerked him perfunctorily, up and down; the rhythm of it so disinterested that Dimitri could almost make-believe he was touching one of Guy’s fingers or a foot. 

Small drops of precum beaded at the tip so one couldn’t claim Dimitri was doing an _inadequate_ job, but Guy, who could infamously cum in the time it took to play _Istanbul, not Constantinople_ , still kept his semen selfishly in his balls.

“You’re shit at this,” Guy said and leaned away to grab a glass of water from his nightstand. 

Dimitri glared at him.

“I’m just saying, at this rate, I’ll sooner end up pissing on you than cumming.”

“Well, I’m not exactly used to the angle, am I?”

“Jesus. Well, just let me then-”

Guy turned inward on Dimitri’s elbow, like they were performing the world’s most pornographic waltz, until he fit snugly in his lap; Guy’s cock now in the same position Dimitri’s would be if he was stroking himself off, albeit a little farther out. Guy lolled his head back on Dimitri’s shoulder, his voice nasal with the strain, “Will this do?”

Dimitri used his free hand to pull Guy’s head back up by his nose. “Shut up. I’m not going to be able to concentrate if I have to hear you the whole time.”

He squirted more lube on his hand and returned to the task at hand. It was better, the position and the fact he didn’t have to look at Guy’s dick and his hand moving up and down it.

He was trying his best now, basing his attention on the parts of Guy’s dick that had been bared of foreskin, the sensitive parts. He had used his fingers more than his fist. When he curled his hand around Guy he nearly covered his whole cock up.

He wasn’t nearly as pliable as Guy who could rub one out with one hand while doing his quadratics homework with the other. Dimitri had been quick about masturbation and never did it without a piece to ogle at: a couple of birds licking at each other or some pornstar pounding into a chick with massive tits spilling out of a half undone corset. Raised mildly Orthodox, he liked to get things over and done with before the inevitable shame set it.

But Guy, despite his flippancy, acted all Romantic about the thing, slowly massaging out an orgasm even when he had only five minutes before he’d be late for class. He’d be the type to write a poem about his cumming or post a solo video on PornHub. _Oh, look at me; look how much I enjoy getting off_. Fucking cunt, is what Dimitri thought about that. Fondly, of course.

It was with a childlike wonder Guy explored his sexuality. Once Dimitri had gone into his room (they were both fifteen then, mind) to see Guy with a shoelace tied so tightly around the base of his cock the rest of it had gone as purple and swelled as an aubergine. Said he was trying out what being a BDSM submissive was like. He was panting and smiling when he said that and Dimitri wanked him off fast so he wouldn’t get any ideas about trying that dangerous shit again.

Guy’s hair curled around his ears like dying leaves, all brown and crimped, and the aroused flush of pink flesh with all its intricate chambers was like a garden trellis. Over his shoulder, Dimitri saw the knees of Guy’s corduroy trousers lying akimbo and quivering over the duvet. 

Dimitri wished one of them had thrown on some music. Not like Marvin Gaye or anything to set what his ex-girlfriend called “a mood”, but so the only sounds wouldn’t be the nauseating squelch of lube and the soft shaking breaths Guy made every time he exhaled. He thought about untangling the earbuds in his pocket but in the end, decided to do so would ruin whatever “mood” Guy was in.

Guy, easily lost to his own horniness, kept rocking back on Dimitri. He was too far slumped down for his ass to be directly over his cock but the pressure of Guy’s back, the consistency of it hard to ignore and even harder to prevent; Guy threw his whole self into getting off: his toes curled, his back arched, his mouth fell open in an aria of little moans and sighs. Dimitri had to anchor himself by biting down hard on the inside of his cheek to keep from getting swept up in it all.

The expensive underwear Guy had on kept hooking onto Dimitri’s hand, fucking up his timing, stuttering the movements whenever he tried to stroke over the exposed head. The breaths he made, a melange of stunted curses and girlish ‘ohs’ and ‘ahs’, were stronger whenever Dimitri rubbed the head of his cock between his thumb and forefinger, and Dimitri was sort of sad not to hear them. 

He slid his hand lower and lower until he was cupping Guy’s balls. They tightened in his palm, drew up, ready to discharge the thousands of impatient sperm inside. He was being experimental.

“Dimitri…” Guy said. It came out more as a whimper.

“Shhh,” Dimitri hushed harshly and replaced the missing hand on Guy’s dick (dry, using the residual lube) stroking him again but slower, drawing out each touch. “You’ll make me lose my concentration.” 

Guy fumbled up and back until he caught the back of Dimitri’s head and forced him closer. Now his neck was aching, but his mouth was right down next to Guy’s ear in such an adjacency that when Dimitri wetted his lips a bit of his tongue landed on and passed against that ear. Guy shuddered.

Fuck, thought Dimitri. An orb of sweat fell from his hairline into his eye. Guy’s ear shared the bitter taste of skin that any part of the body had, but the redhotness of that little curve made Dimitri want to suck it into his mouth. He suddenly felt extremely discombobulated about this whole wanking off business.

There was a total absence of hair about Guy’s balls and it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that he partook in intimate grooming like a model who couldn’t risk being known have such imperfections as pubic hair. Dmitry felt abstractly pissed off at whoever made him feel that way because what he wanted to feel was Guy’s coarse pubic hair sifting at the side of his palm, getting caught on his pinky nail.

Dimitri almost took away one of his hands to wipe the sweat out of his eyes.

The skills necessary to suppress an erection had not been afforded to Dimitri like they were to other boys, or just the privilege not to give a hit. Harry in particular walked around with a near-permanent hard-on, like he was Priapus made 3-D, without any concern.

Thank god Guy was too much of an ignorant git to notice the bit of sturdy flesh rubbing on his tailbone as he scrambled higher on the bed. It fucked up the positioning of Dimitri’s hand but he also got an idea. He let his hand travel higher, up between Guy’s asscheeks.

At first, Dimitri was sort of grossed out when he felt Guy’s asshole touch his finger. It felt weird, a little bit like the inside of a lip but a lot less wet. 

Like every person, he had heard that men can get orgasms if you played with their assholes, that the prostate felt good if not better to get off with. Dimitri had this sense of innocent curiosity. Obviously it had to be true otherwise gay blokes wouldn’t be having sex the way they did but he had never seen it in action. His finger was still pretty slippery with lube and he rubbed it provisionally against the opening.

His finger slid in with relative ease. Blindly, Dimitri searched for that spot that, supposedly, would drive Guy crazy. 

After a hasty groping, one eye always preoccupied with making sure Guy wasn’t discomforted, Dimitri found a convex bit of flesh that, when he brushed it, finally shut Guy up.

Guy gripped the back of Dimitri’s head with a positively painful force, digging his nails in at the precise areas to simulate a migraine. He drew his legs up. His mouth was wide open, soundless. 

His ass was pounding back against Dimitri’s cock as he tried to grind down on Dimitri’s finger. Dimitri was absolutely breathless, gasping as quietly as he could behind Guy’s ear. It was how Marie Curie must have felt discovering radium, that is, if radium was in Pierre Curie’s asshole.

Dimitri switched his attentions to Guy’s cock. He licked his finger, cringing at the chemical taste of the lube, and rubbed it slowly over the slit of Guy’s cock.

He slipped his fingers out of the front of Guy’s trousers and stuffed his hand down the back, using two fingers at a better angle.

Guy just about melted, unsure into which hand he should thrust against so he rocked his hips wildly, rolling like thunder. 

It was getting surprisingly hot in the room.

Dimitri changed the strategy of his fingers from a rubbing to a sort of scissoring motion. He wanted to see if he could fit another one in. He was almost sad that he couldn’t see Guy’s face. It was probably pink and a little wet from sweat, his eyes closed and his tongue darting out of his open mouth to cleanse his lips. Dimitri got harder imagining Guy opening his eyes and seeing Dimitri on top of him, seeing Dimitri’s fingers going in and out of his asshole.

Once he had gotten Guy loose enough, he stuck a third finger inside him. It was a tighter fit than Dimitri expected but he carrying on, plunging the trio of fingers in a languid fucking motion.

It was a good thing his hand acted more or less like a barrier between his dick and Guy or else Guy would probably have noticed by now stiff his cock had got and that every time he stroked Guy his own cock quivered with recollection, but he desperately needed something to rut against other than the knuckles of his own hand. He wanted to rub the head of his cock against Guy’s asshole to know what it felt like.

By now Guy must have realised Dimitri had put his fingers in him but really didn’t seem to care. Dimitri wouldn’t have put it past him to try fingering before. Or pegging. A water snake coiled tightly in his belly as he imagined some girl, a stranger found on a kink website, stretching him out and screwing him with a plastic dick.

Dimitri took his hand off Guy’s cock and, awkwardly, tipped him forward until he was on all fours and Dimitri was kneeling behind him. 

Dimitri wrestled Guy’s trousers and pants down over his arse and was stunned for a few seconds at the pale colour and shape, round and small. He gave Guy a few more good strokes on the prostate before he pulled his fingers out and undid the fly on his jeans. It took a few tries to pull the brass button free of its hole, he was shaking so badly.

Wanking his dick, Dimitri held apart Guy’s arse and finally got a look at his asshole. It didn’t look so bad, kind of like the top of a strawberry with all the leaves plucked away. 

“Um, Dimitri?” Guy said, his voice muffled somewhat by the duvet.

“It’s cool. Just relax.” Dimitri lined up his cock with Guy’s ass and started to push in.

“What the fuck?” Just as he had barely parted his hole with the head of his cock, Guy began squirming beneath him. 

Dimitri gave his flank a pat that was supposed to be comforting. “Just let me put it in. I’ve opened you up enough; it won’t hurt, I swear.”

“The fuck it won’t!” 

“I promise, I promise it won’t. It’ll feel so good Guy.”

“For you maybe.”

“For both of us. Quit being a pussy.”

“You make me bleed, I’ll call the police and say it was rape.”

“Shut up.” Dimitri fumbled at the nightstand for more lube, squirting a generous amount on his dick and Guy’s asshole, working it into his skin with his thumb. 

Impatient to begin, Dimitri, after hurried additional fingering, didn’t give Guy much time to acclimate before Dimitri shoved and was entirely inside. Guy groaned. Burying his face in the bed, he inadvertently stuck his ass higher in the air, pushing back on Dimitri, his cock working deeper inside him.

“Jesus Fuck, you’re big,” he muttered.

“You know it,” said Dimitri as he made the first thrust.

“No, like, _fuck_ , you’re really, really big. Like I’m gonna fall apart.”

Dimitri slowed his pace.

“But not in a bad way,” Guy said.

Dimitri pulled far out and slammed into him again. The sound that fell from Guy’s mouth as Dimitri hit his prostate was ungodly. Had Dimitri not been hard that sound would have been enough to send him to the brink of arousal.

Dimitri laid himself out along Guy’s back, pushing away the hair that stuck to the back of his neck. He licked the sweat off his nape. Guy tasted buttery and rich. “And you’re really tight.”

He was. He really really was. Despite the amount of work that went into spreading Guy out, his ass is still the tightest thing Dimitri’s ever fucked. He was afraid that if he took his cock out he’d never get it back in. 

Dimitri closed his eyes against the sunset smearing through the windows. He snatched back his hips, knocked into Guy, again and again like a swing set free at its highest interval, lunging into the sky.

“Dimitri. Dimitri. Hey, Dimitri. T-touch my cock.”

Guy was hopelessly writhing, trying to push his groin against the bed but was blocked by the position of his knees; he only proved effective in squeezing his ass around Dimitri’s cock and getting that cock to nudge away from his prostate. He whined pitifully.

“Come on. Please.”

God, he sounded so cute begging. Begging in the way that meant he knew he would get what he was asking for. 

Dimitri wormed his hand past the shelf of Guy’s hip bone to grasp his cock and tug it in time with his vigourous fucking.

“Yes-- oh y- yes! Fuck yes! Like that. Keep going like that.” Guy interrupts himself to moan. “You’re so -- so good like that. I love how -- oh fuck, fuck-- love how you touch me.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Dimitri slurred to the top of his spine. “You’re so goddamn loud.”

He gave Guy a few more crisp jerks before abandoning his dick to slide his hand under his sweater, fiddling with Guy’s ribs. Cockled, they were, as seashells.

It was ego mostly that made Dimitri take his hand away in the end; he didn’t want to cheat himself by feeling that Guy had cum from your sub-standard, every day wank. 

He finally put his mouth on Guy’s ear, sucking gently, trying out all his old tricks as he moved his hand over and around Guy’s stomach and ribs and chest. Guy’s nipples were hard.

He fucked him harder. His orgasm was on the horizon, oozing closer like spilled water. Around his cock, Guy’s asshole clenched him tighter, trembling. Reaching up through his collar, Dimitri took his chin in his hand and wrenched him close so their cheeks brushed and fucked him until he came. 

Guy’s hot breath flowed over Dimitri’s lips as he moaned through his orgasm in short bursts. 

The spasms that encircled Dimitri were enough to make him go weak. 

When he came, the orgasm twinkling up his legs and down his arms, brain glitteringly fantastic, he came in Guy, realising only a second too late that he should have pulled out.

Probably he should have put on a condom too, if not for health (Dimitri never had an STD and he was as proud of it the way children were proud of never having a cavity) at least for cleanliness. 

He stayed in Guy for a little while afterwards, too exhausted to leave, and, in his haziness, puckered his lips against Guy’s neck, pulling away with a halcyon sigh.

Then he froze.

Oh fuck. Oh bloody fucking goddamnit Jesus Christ and all His angels.

Sure his plausible deniability wasn’t the strongest considering he, without instruction, fingered his best friend then screwed him, but a kiss is too far across the intimacy line to be construed as anything other romantic. And Dimitri had no misgivings that Guy’s feelings weren’t in any way romantic towards him. Sexual definitely, if they weren’t Dimitri wouldn’t be asked to provide assistance so often, but Dimitri was squarely, and unspokenly, in the friend-zone.

Dimitri hurriedly took his dick from Guy and, unable to look away, saw his cum, curd-white, flex in the crevices of Guy’s asshole then dribble out. Something scintillated through Dimitri.

He moved out from behind Guy who shucked off the remainder of his trousers and pants.

“You know,” Guy said as he climbed on to his knees, craning his neck to look behind himself, “you could have worn something. Like a condom. You know, a condom?” 

Guy’s small cock, still a little hard, bobbed out underneath the hem of his jumper, a weirdly innocent look, especially with the cum running down the back of his thighs. It was like when a girl wears a guy's dress shirt as pajamas and looks like a little girl: kind of fucked up but pretty cute regardless.

“And you know you could have used your right hand,” Dimitri said, on his phone once more, anything to keep his attention off Guy. 

“I don’t have an ambidextrous bone in my body. Least of all in my hands.”

Maybe he wouldn’t just fuck Rose and leave her checking her texts. She was pretty funny over Tinder and if she had gotten in St. Hilda’s she had to be pretty clever too. Maybe he’d make her his girlfriend then he wouldn’t have to act like a nineteenth-century schoolboy with Guy all the time. He tugged a couple of tissues from a box on Guy’s nightstand and polished the lube and cum off his dick then did up his jeans.

He’ll tell her the funny story about why he decided to swipe right on her (because when he was a kid his older sister made him dress up as Posh Spice and dance around to the song in her bio). He’ll whisper into her ear how hot her tits looked in her picture and how much he’d like to see them in real life. He won’t tell her he spent the hour before pre-gaming their hook-up by fucking the cum out of his best friend and that when he’s inside her he’ll be thinking about how grateful his is for Guy’s absolute stupidity to break his dominant hand and that he’ll be showing a lot more of his sexts to him if that’s the result he gets.

Rose would make a fun girlfriend for a couple of months, a year maybe. Time enough for him to graduate and move to London and get a job where he gets to jet-set for eleven out of the twelve months of the year. Easter in Nairobi, Pentecost in Tbilisi, Christmas in Turks and Caicos. Frequently far away enough that he isn’t a tempting ten inches from Guy’s ass each and every hour of his day. 

Because Guy likes sex and he likes sex with Dimitri but he doesn’t like Dimitri enough to just have sex with him, to think living together in London is a big deal, and that if they kissed (if they ever did Dimitri is sure he would definitely just fucking die) it would mean more than the heat of the moment.

“I really gotta go now,” Dimitri said as he shrugged into his jacket.

“Yeah, hot date ‘nd all.”

“Don’t be pissy. We’ll see each other tomorrow, yeah? Breakfast?”

“Fine. But I want bacon and waffles with strawberries.”

“Do I get a share?”

“No.” Guy was back on his laptop, lying on his stomach, his ass, a little cherry and abused, exposed to the air.

“Aren’t you going to change those?” Dimitri asked, meaning the sheets which had Guy’s cum already congealing on them.

“I’ll get the maids to do it,” Guy said. Then after a few half-hearted taps on his keyboard. “I need a shower.”

He looked over to Dimitri. 

“I need a shower,” he repeated.

“Then take a damn shower.”

“You could use a shower too. You smell like… you know. Not great.”

“Gee thanks. I’ll make sure to grab one on the way out.” Dimitri’s cheeks burned. Guy wasn’t one to withhold criticism, no matter how unwarranted, but Dimitri thought he’d be kinder after, languid with satisfaction. He couldn’t even look at him.

“I’ve got a charcoal body scrub that Soph sent me from New York. She says it’s really good for washing off stuff.” Guy was rubbing his right calf with his left foot really slowly.

“Then tell her to send me one for Christmas. I’ll text you, Guy.” 

“Not if I text you first.”

Dimitri didn’t even glance over his shoulder as he marched from the room, slamming the door so forcefully a girl passing through the hall picked up her pace. He could have recognised her if his vision wasn’t so wavery and wet.


End file.
